The Windy City
by The Otaku King
Summary: Rally is tortured for carrying out an assassination. Oneshot, GuroFic, don't like don't read.


Gurofic. Don't like, don't read. Tags: [M/F][rape][anal][bond][tort][nec][snuff][scat/gs][decap]

Though Chicago became known as the Windy City thanks to political hot air, there were times when the weather proved it true. While the mercury had hovered around 20°F for a few days – well below average in January - the wind chill made it feel like it was much, much colder. Blizzards had come close to closing down parts of the city; many people just wanted to stay indoors. 'Rally' Vincent to run the Gunsmith Cats gun shop alone, when Minnie Hopkins rang in sick; literally vomiting during the call.

Colder than the tits of a witch's corpse as it was outside, in the small shop it was toasty warm thanks to a relatively decent heating system. Rally was dressed in crimson leather pants, belted at the waist, and a tight white long sleeve top. Like the pants, it was practical and comfortable, and showed her figure without being overly revealing. Her Pakistani father, though relatively liberal in matters of fast cars, guns and women's rights, had instilled in her some conservative senses of dress. Not to mention that as a 19 year old claiming to be 21, dressing like trailer trash wouldn't be a great move if the licensing officer pulled a surprise inspection.

She wore a dark leather underarm gun holster over her top although the CZ 75, which normally filled it, was within easy reach just under the counter rather than holstered. She retained a less powerful semi-automatic pistol in her ankle holster, because down there it wasn't going to alarm any little old ladies who dropped by for ideal home defence. Sensible black boots finished off her look, low cut so as not to brush the holster. Running in heels was a bitch, and as a crack shot part time bounty hunter Rally was always ready to run.

The gunshop was another inheritance from her father, along with the dusky colour of her skin – though that was paled a little by her English mother's genes. The racial mix gave Rally an exotic beauty and cultural outlook that was close to unique in Chicao. She looked through dark blue eyes at a ratty gun catalogue, wondering why she even bothered to open up on days like this. Minnie May had the right idea, calling in sick. The atrocious weather seemed to have ground even criminal activity to a halt; there weren't any bounties to collect!

She yawned, covering her small mouth out of habitual politeness, and turned the catalogue page. There were some really nice weapons in there for special order, and she was considering getting a couple in to display around Gunsmith Cats. A few of the items that had previously been displayed for the same reason had been brought up; no doubt little old ladies all over the greater Chicago area were defending their cats and knitting with finely made instruments of Death.

The shop door opened and snow whipped around the well-wrapped figure who stood there before he pushed it closed against the insistent wind. Rally shivered a moment, feeling her nipples poke against her bra in the sudden chill. The moment passed as the shopper stamped snow from his boots, and pushed back his hood to reveal a kind young face. He was a white male who looked to be not much older than Rally. His skin was pale and freckled beneath neat red hair pulled into a ponytail, compared to Rally's Dark hair, which bounced freely at shoulder length.

He wore a large backpack that seemed to weigh down heavily on his shoulders, though he gave no indication of straining. He was almost six feet tall, having around six inches on Rally's compact body, and paused to take off his gloves and push them into the left pocket of his greatcoat before stepping further into the store.

"Mornin' shopper! Do you know what you're after or are you wanting to browse?" Rally paused, then "or maybe get out of the wind?"

When the red haired man replied it was with a lilting Irish accent,

"I know exactly what I'm after. It's maybe the second most dangerous thing in this whole city, and that's saying something!"

Rally chuckled, "Well everything in here is safe if used as directed – that's my ubiquitous warning, I say it everywhere! So what are you wanting?"

The man dropped his hands into his pockets, burrowing one into the wet gloves. He whistled a few tuneful notes and looked around the store before turning his gaze back on Rally. The young shop owner was still leaning over the counter, but her hands were up resting on the edge. She thought about how cute he looked and idly considered inviting him to a cup of tea and maybe a kiss. Her skin darkened at the thought and she coughed into her hand to hide embarrassment.

"Well, it's very accurate in pretty much all conditions. It's small but packs a heavy punch. It's mind blowingly sexy…"

Rally chuckled again, slightly more forced. The young man didn't seem like the kind of creepy gun fetishist she occasionally had in the store, but it took all kinds. She'd kicked a fat man out for asking if he could get a Hello Kitty pump action shotgun once. The day had been so quiet though, so she didn't mind him dragging out the conversation and asked,

"Where's it made?"

He smiled, making Rally blush more and replied, "I was just getting to that, because this is where you'll guess. It's made from Pakistani and English parts, and two weeks ago it killed a high ranking official of the United States government with a stray bullet."

Rally's sense of danger was suddenly itching; she reached along the counter but before she got half an inch the Irishman had pulled a gun from his pocket and fired from the hip. His aim might not have been as good as Rally's, but he was above average and put the dart in the girl's neck. She reached up with one hand to pull it out but the drugs in the dart tore into her almost instantly.

The Irishman watched her wobbling against the counter as she tugged at the dart with fingers that felt like rubber. He knew it wouldn't do any good by now. Rally felt her other hand close on her CZ 75. The weapon felt too heavy to lift; she strained, but only managed to send it clattering to the shop floor where the safety prevented her shooting her own foot. Rally's pupils were hugely dilated as she slumped onto the counter.

"Funny thing, see. People go out and fire those big old guns around, they almost never stop to think about where how some of those rounds'll go right through a wall. You wouldn't even have heard about this fellow on the news, but he was having a quiet piss in a men's room when a round from a CZ 75 came on through the shoddy material they built that shack out of. Crying shame. Messed up Uncle Sam's plans for him that did, not to mention his suit."

The backpack thunked against the floor as the Irishman slipped it from his shoulders. He set about bringing down the shop shutters and closing the door, even though he had to step outside. He could hear Rally's heavy breathing and knew she wasn't quite unconscious so he made sure to keep an eye on her. He kept talking,

"So Uncle Sam thinks it's an assassination job. Everyone would love to believe that there's some great old worldwide conspiracy going on with the agencies running everywhere and everyone, but that isn't the case. Everyone has enemies these days – even Uncle Sam.

Now, I've been doing what I do for years. I started off shooting drunken Proddies in the back in Belfast when I was 8 years old. I got in with some patriotic boys and since Uncle Sam and the good people of Boston have funded our lads in the old country for years it wasn't no great step from there to a green card and working for Uncle Sam direct."

The shutters were soon down, while the door shutter was down but not locked – the lock was outside. Anybody unfortunate enough to be passing in the harsh weather wouldn't notice anything out of the ordinary with so many surrounding businesses shuttered for the day. Rally drifted into warm darkness with the counter pressing up into her tits.

"I dreamed of being the best hitman that ever there was you know, fat chance of that kneecapping pornographers in Belfast. Turned out I've a better talent for investigation, interrogation, torture and that. Especially Torture. That's why I'm here, see. Rally, my name's John."

Weighing in somewhere between 115 – 120 lbs, Rally felt light as the Irishman walked around the counter and lifted her hips from the floor. He saw she had slipped into unconsciousness while he talked. John estimated she would be out for about thirty minutes based on body type and dose. She slumped further forward onto the counter as he lifted her, and then slid back off into his arms when he released her hips. He patted her body for guns and removed extra clips of ammo hidden in the small of her back, and the ankle holster with its semi automatic.

His cock stirred as he rubbed his hands up her leather pants and felt the toned curves of her athletic legs. It seemed a shame to have to do what he did for a living to something so physically perfect. If he'd met her in Molly's Olde Irish Pub he'd have bought her a drink, and if any of the eejits had tried that good old fashioned Irish racism he'd have done 'em in for her. Broken their skulls right quick. He nuzzled his lips against the rich dark leather of Rally's pants and sighed. If he didn't do her, Uncle Sam'd have someone do him.

Nature of the beast, that; a dark side of the American Dream.

He stood up behind the slumped over girl and reached down and around to unbuckle her belt. He pulled it gently from the loops on the pants, and then dropped it to the side. Next, he slowly unbuttoned the fly of the pants, and tugged them down to reveal black thong panties and the dusky skin of Rally's rounded buttocks. The panties followed her leather pants to hang around her ankles a second later. His cock was hard now, and he took a moment to unbutton his greatcoat and drop it over Rally's discarded belt.

He unzipped the fly and pushed down his jeans and boxers to reveal an average and more than adequate seven-inch cock with a thick bush of red hair to match his head. Irish curse be damned. He stood behind Rally and pushed her further forward onto the counter to get a better angle. He stood for a moment with his shaft resting between her buttocks; his pale skin seemed paler and her dusky skin darker in comparison to each other. The Irishman thrust his cock between her buttocks for a few moments, feeling the valley rubbing his shaft. He couldn't quite get over the beauty of Rally's skin tone.

The Irishman knelt down again. He left his hands on Rally's buttocks to hold her on the counter, and leaned forward to prod his tongue against her rosebud. He licked Rally's anus hungrily, tasting the sweaty tang of her skin before pushing the tip of his tongue into her tight bung. He rimmed Rally appreciatively for a couple of minutes. The skin around her anal hole glistened with his saliva by the time he licked a finger and pushed it gently inside. He moved it in and out, feeling her hot tight grip – even in sleep Rally's ass naturally resisted intrusion as it held in her shit. Soon he pumped two fingers inside her, then three, then two from each hands as he stretched her open.

He rose and spat onto his cock. He jerked his hand along the length, and then hawked phlegm from his lungs and added it to the slippery shaft. He checked his watch, and then pushed slowly into Rally's ass. He groaned quietly as he slid inside, watching intently as the darkest skin around her bung slid along his pale shaft. Rally shifted slightly in her drugged sleep; the Irishman paused, his bush tickling her buttocks.

The limp bodied girl lay still over the counter. John reached around under her body and felt her breasts under the stretched white material of her top. They were firm, and warm, and felt good in his hands. He began an in and out pelvic thrusting against Rally. Sinking his cock deep into her hot ass, then pulling out until only the head was inside, before stroking back into the unconscious girl's rear.

He moved one hand from groping Rally's breasts and used it to pull her hair aside. The girl's face was pressed sideways against the far end of the counter, and with each thrust it jutted forward over the edge. Only the white of Rally's eye was visible below her half closed lid. John kissed the smooth skin of her neck, then the line of her chin. His humping sped up as he kissed the side of the unconscious girl's unresponsive mouth. He swore she smiled in her sleep. Rally's arms slid forward off the counter on either side of her head. John had moved both his hands to her hips as he sodomized the pretty girl as hard and fast as he could.

He reached his peak and his whole body stiffened up. The Irishman came first deep inside Rally's rear, before pulling out and jerking his twitching cock. His creamy cum rained down over the dusky skin, staining the rucked up hem of her top as it splashed off target, before begin to dribble down into the valley of her buttocks.

The Irishman panted, looking down at the mess that coated his shaft. He pulled Rally from the counter until she was on her knees. A firm grip on Rally's hair held her up, while her jaw dropped slackly. He pushed the sensitive crown of his cock in, letting Rally's tongue clean it off as he twisted the base of his shaft with his fingers. He moved his cock against her lips, cleaning as much as possible into Rally's mouth. He ran a finger along the harder to reach bits and then rubbed the digit into Rally's teeth.

He left her slumped forward on her knees as he tugged up his pants.

When Rally awoke it was to pain in her shoulders and her ass. There was a foul taste in her mouth but the ball gag strapped in prevented her spitting any of it out. Her arms were lashed together at the wrists, and the expertly knotted rope was threaded over a ceiling display rack. The rack had previously held one of the heaviest weapons in the shop, and was currently empty awaiting restocking by at least two strong guys from the delivery firm.

Rally's feet dangled a foot or so off the floor, where the bucket she used to mop the place now sat. There were leather cuffs on her ankles, and a solid separation bar between them kept her legs wide. The stepladder from the back of the shop was on the edge of her field of vision, and had obviously been used in getting her where she was. Rally was surprised to see that her top and bra had been removed, along with the rest of her clothes, and then her underarm holster had been strapped back on. The leather felt a little rough against her bare skin.

The ball gag wasn't going anywhere. She tried pushing out with her tongue, and chewing through it. The little red ball seemed impervious – no matter how hard she bit, she made only the barest impression. The ball gag straps ran around her head and two also up the sides of her nose to become a single strap that went over the top of her skull and joined at the back. Rally's dark hair bulged around the straps, and she was sure if she could just get her hands on them, she would be able to unfasten it.

The ropes were unfortunately as secured as the ball gag, and she only managed to rub her wrists painfully against the rope. They burned her skin and increased the ache in her shoulders. She managed to swing her legs a little, but only managed to hurt her shoulders more. She felt a burning ache in them from the pressure of her weight being put unnaturally on the bone and muscle.

Rally groaned with frustration and impotent anger. She felt humiliation too, to be naked and have her legs forced so wide. There was no point being the best damn shot in the world if you didn't have a gun to shoot. The redheaded bastard was clearly taunting her by strapping the holster back around her torso before he suspended her. She hung quietly for a while, having no other option. When she heard the door to the back room of the shop she tried to turn her head around.

"Back in the world of the living are ye? As I was saying before, my name's John and I'll be your torturer today. I expect you can already feel a little strain on your shoulders, Rally. A pain in your bottom too, right? Oh, and that'll be your fine little bottom you can taste."

Rally couldn't get her head around enough to see the Irishman. She had a fleeting vision of getting loose, grabbing her CZ 75 and pushing it between his teeth. The terror in his eyes before the back of his head was spread all over the wall in great bloody chunks. Failing that, she wished he didn't love the sound of his own voice so. The cute little Irish accent was really starting to grate.

"So Uncle Sam's golden boy took a bullet while he was taking a piss. Those bullets of yours though, they're pretty rare – like that model gun. It didn't take all that long to find a few other matches. The other witnesses to your battle were also pretty helpful, and so were the boys in blue. They see you as one of the good guys generally, and they had no idea about your little stray round."

Words muffled by the ball gag, she suggested John get to the point or perhaps engage in carnal acts with himself. He couldn't really make it out, but was slightly surprised that it didn't sound like the usual pleas for mercy. Rally was obviously a tough nut to crack. It was a damn shame he fancied her so much, he decided, if only because this job might trouble his conscience for a while.

He stepped around in front of Rally, and she saw that he held three metal alligator clips. Cables ran from the back of each to join into an even thicker cable, which disappeared out of the suspended girl's line of sight. John's red hair was still in a ponytail, but he was now naked apart from his boots. He reached up and clipped one of the sets of alligator clips onto Rally's dark left nipple. She tried to pull away and failed miserably.

She grunted around the gag, fighting the urge to scream, as the little metal teeth dug into her sensitive flesh. Little specks of blood appeared around the clip as the urgent pain throbbed. John waited a few seconds, and then reached up quickly and clipped the other nipple. The grunt was higher pitched this time. The two clips clung onto the pointed nubs of Rally's breasts, and trying to shake them off only made them hurt more. John tugged on the wires, stretching the shape of Rally's tits, and checked the clips were secure.

The third alligator clip was on a longer cable. Rally's big dark blue eyes widened as she realized where it was going to go. She tried desperately to pull her ass and legs back. John lifted his foot and put pressure on the restraining bar. Pain shot through Rally's shoulders as the weight increased. John looked deeply into Rally's eyes. He saw fear and panic, and tears at the edge. The anticipation of what was coming was worse for her than the clamps on her nipples or the ache in her shoulder.

John upped the pressure on the restraining bar with his foot. Rally had no slack at all; her shoulders burned as though they would tear and dislocate with much more weight. The dusky skinned girl screwed her eyes shut and shouted muffled abuse and defiance. The Irishman slowly rubbed the end up the clip up the smoothly shaven lips of Rally's pussy and then clipped it onto her clit.

There was no grunt about the high-pitched scream that followed. The gag was almost useless against the intensity of Rally's voice. The pain from the alligator clip teeth biting into Rally's most sensitive nub blew everything else away. Piss sprayed from her urethra as she lost control. John lifted the bucket up under the acrid yellow stream and caught almost all of Rally's waste matter until her bladder had nothing more to give. Tears streamed down Rally's cheeks as she swayed and juddered.

John sat the bucket of remaining piss down and walked to the side. He came back with a small sponge, which he dipped into the bucket. He applied piss wetly to each nipple and clip; it stung painfully, although again this was nothing compared to the stinging when he sponged and squeezed out piss all over and around Rally's clit clip. Rally felt her stomach flop and bubble as the Irishman stepped back out of sight with the sponge, and came back with a small and simple remote control.

"So, Uncle Sam has to make a stand sometimes. You killed a very important person, never mind that he had a couple of kids, a wife and a boyfriend. You screwed up a lot of delicate intelligence with your little stray round. A lot of good people will probably die as the dominos fall. We can't help them! Are you listening Rally?" he paused, met her eyes.

He saw fear and pain in equally large amounts. She was still moaning softly as her nipples and clit throbbed.

"My orders are to torture you to death in retribution. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Your eyes and your skin, hell your whole body and your attitude - The most amazing package y'are. But orders are orders and there's a couple of cameras been set up since you were napping to make sure I don't skimp on ye. The man's wife will get a copy to help her sleep at night; sound edited of course. Oh, and by the by that piss I rubbed on you'll help conduct the electricity."

The Irishman pressed a button on the remote and suddenly the throbbing got a whole lot worse. The electrical surge into Rally's erogenous zones felt like the alligator clips were being tightened while knives drove in through the middle. She jerked her wrists in the binding rope and kicked her restrained legs back and forth. Rally spat drool around the ball gag as clips heated up. She screamed like an angel forced feet first through the tight strings of her own harp.

The button was released after ten seconds. Rally hung still. Sweat coated her dusky skin in a fine sheen as it dripped into her eyes and ran down the valley of her breasts. Her head dropped forward with her dark hair falling around her face. Her nipples and clit tingled painfully in the aftermath. John let her get her breath before,

"This here's level three."

The next jolt jerked Rally so hard she felt her arms tear inside. The alligator clips heated fast, glowing red as electricity surged through them and into the gagged girls body. Little plumes of smoke rose from every one as they burned agonizingly into each nipple and her swollen clit. She would have done anything to end the pain – kill her friends without hesitation, blow a stray dog's diseased dick until it came in her mouth or even vote for gun control. She couldn't see or even breathe; all she could do was shudder and scream as electric agony consumed her.

The small wires melted through at almost the same time and dropped to the floor. The three alligator clips were left sizzling on Rally's flesh, cooking quickly. John looked up at Rally's fluttering eyelids. Her face was darkly flushed and twisted with the agony that had come so close to unhinging her mind. He dropped the remote and reached a finger down into the piss bucket. Rally's waste smelled foul when he flicked it over her burned and swollen clit; it evaporated against the cooling metal. The flow of tears was constant while Rally's nose ran in a slimy trail down to her ball gag. He gazed upon her rapidly moving breasts as she drew in air around the gag and through her runny nose.

"I think, Rally Vincent, that you hate me more than anyone else in the entire world right now. Nod your head if you can?"

Rally didn't move her head. She smelled the rich sweet smell of her own flesh as it hung in the air. The strain on her arms was so much more intense with them gently tearing deep inside.

"No? Well, you shouldn't. When I looked into all of this mess I made sure to go the extra mile and prove beyond all doubt that your friends Minnie-May Hopkins and Becky Farrah weren't involved except in the most tangential sense, see? If I hadn't done that, they'd be down for the same as you. Instead I just gave Minnie a three-day virus to keep her out of the way. She'll be purging from all her holes for a wee bit, but she'll be right as rain before you know it."

John had a root around in his bag until he found his anal speculum. It was a heavy-duty metal instrument and shone under the shop lights. He picked up the piss bucket as he walked up behind the suspended girl. On close examination, Rally's anus had proved durable despite the earlier penetration. Her shit was held in well during the previous torture. John held the bucket underneath with one hand as he slid the anal speculum deep inside Rally.

She wiggled as the cold metal slid far inside her warm rectum. She felt the long screw pressing into her right buttock. Rally tried to twist her head to see what was happening but once again she couldn't get a view. The twisting of her neck hurt her shoulders more so she resigned herself to slumping back forward and waiting her fate in pain. John worked the screw and the speculum forced Rally's ass open. Her loose waste dropped through the stretched hole and splashed into her piss as he kept cinching the screw tighter.

The strain on her tight sphincter was incredible. Soon the muscle was on the verge of tearing like those in her arms and shoulder. Her near constant whining took on a more urgent tone as John opened up the petite girl's ass until he would be able to fit his entire hand and forearm through the solid metal ring of the speculum. Rally's shit still oozed down to mix with the piss, although John felt able to sit the bucket on the floor beneath her.

"I bet you fifty bucks you wouldn't believe how far I can see inside you Rally! You smell like Sinead O'Connor at low tied back here, though nobody'd be surprised at that. Now, this next thing I'm going to do is I'm going to get a small container of white phosphorus and a nice chemical liquid and crack it. It's kind of like a grenade, in a way. Then I'm going to put it right up into your bowel and yank out this old hunk of metal. The liquid around the white phosphorus turns to gas in the body heat, an there'll be enough air up there to keep it burning bright long enough."

As the Irishman's words sank in the pain in Rally's arms ceased to matter. The pain in her nipples, even her poor roasted little clit, could go hang. If John put white phosphorus inside her she would suffer like no woman since at least the battle of Fallujah. John watched her struggle like a demon as he reached back into his bag and came out with a grenade sized object. He cracked the seal and the chemical, which kept the white phosphorus from igniting, began to leak out down one side. Careful not to spill any on himself he pushed the evil device far up into Rally's rectum and wedged it around into the opening of her twisty bowel.

He withdrew quickly and yanked the speculum loose. Rally's anus tore bloodily around the smooth metal and began to slowly close. Her wrists were bleeding freely as she tugged and tugged. John watched as he moved the bucket off to the side. He was sure her left shoulder was dislocated and figured her right wouldn't be much longer. The wrist blood running down her arms made another fine colour contrast with Rally's skin.

Sitting in the foetid air trapped inside Rally Vincent the white phosphorus ignited. Her bowel was instantly shredded as the thin membranes burned right through, and then stomach gas helped fuel the fierce chemical as it stuck to and burned Rally internally. The shock was to her system was awesome. White smoke puffed from her twitching anus, while a gentle hand on the small of her back revealed an intense internal heat. John wondered how much air there was to keep it burning.

Rally wasn't even struggling now. Her body was shutting down in a massive tidal wave of shock and agony. John located his best knife inside his backpack and unsheathed it. It was more like a machete in length, and wickedly sharp. He liked to boast he could cut his hair with it. He pulled the step ladder up to Rally's twitching legs and climbed high enough to slice through the rope on her arms.

She was beyond feeling the additional pain of a twisted ankle when she hit the floor heavily. John got down quickly and picked up the filth bucket. He emptied over the shaking girl's crotch and chest. Rally Vincent died in agony lying in a spreading pool of her own filth. He belly had swelled with gas and smoke and her skin stretched up in shades of red and purple. John moved quickly, pushing the sharp edge of his knife into her neck. Blood pumped around the metal as he worked it through skin, muscle and spine to pull her head free.

Copious blood drained heavily from both stumps as John reverently lifted Rally's face to his and kissed her on the red ball gag, and then on her cheek. Rally's blood painted his shaft crimson as he lowered he severed esophagus down onto it. He groaned as he slid deeply inside, deep throat in reverse. He admired the softness of her hair and the size of her dark blue eyes as he thrust up to the back of her mouth. He guessed what his dick would look like behind the gag, the fat head of his seven inch shaft popping up behind her purple tongue as he pumped into her neck.

"Oh Jesus, Mary and Joseph! I'M COMING!"

He sprayed his seed into Rally's ruined throat. It quickly slid back down around his shaft as he pumped. John's seed mixed with her blood and saliva until he had none left to give. He felt fatigue in his arms as he pulled the beautiful girl's throat from his shaft and set her head smartly on the counter. It sat in its own growing pool of blood and cum. Rally's dusky skin was now unnaturally pale, but he still saw her beauty in it. John favored Rally with one last kiss before he set about gathering his equipment.

The DNA tests the police ran were tampered with at the labs, of course. They came back to show beyond any doubt that the brutal rape, torture and murder of Rally Vincent was carried out by a 20 year old Japanese-American male on police files as Ken Takizawa. With no alibi and a history of violent acts the jury had no hesitation in convicting him.


End file.
